


The fire in my heart

by blablabla123



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:54:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25091206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blablabla123/pseuds/blablabla123
Summary: Geralt and Yennefer have been working together for years. Together they took out some of the worst of human kind.But after a mission goes awry they have to reassess what they really mean to each other.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 3
Kudos: 35





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm just a sucker for hurt/comfort, OK?

It’s quite chilly for a night in late July. But the sky is clear, speckled with the dim light of a few stars, not outshining the beaming lights of the city around him. He lies on his stomach, jaw pressed against the handle of his rifle, right index finger a heart beat from the trigger, as he lends eyes to Yennefer, who is on the ground. They rarely get to work together like this, but when they do, they get the job done efficiently and quickly. When it comes to work, they’re always on the same page. The targets are two brothers, leading a human trafficking syndicate in London. Tonight they are preparing a meeting with potential clients in an abandoned public swimming pool.  
Sudden movement at the left corner of his eyes accelerates his pulse.  
“We have a runner!” Geralt’s deep voice in her ear makes her jump into action.  
“Where?”  
“South exit.”  
She runs and she’s fast. It doesn’t take long until she’s on his heels. But he has the upper hand, since he knows the structure like the back of his hand. Suddenly darting through a side door, she didn’t even see, he catches her by surprise. When she yanks the door open mere seconds after him, he’s waiting for her. Catching her with an outstretched arm and slamming her against the wall, knocking all air from her lungs. The scream that erupts from her upon impact makes Geralt’s skin crawl.  
A sense of panic licks at his nerves, leaving them ragged and frail. His instincts forcing him to lower his guard and getting up to run to her aid.  
“Yen! Are you O.K.?”  
No answer. Nothing. He runs, bursting through the double doors, leading to the swimming pool. His mind is racing. Only fixated on her. The worry for her drowning out everything else. Which he lives to regret moments later, when something heavy suddenly collides with him, too quickly, too unexpected for him to react. And so he falls into the cold water, every cell in his body tensing in shock. Yennefer writhes against the hands around her throat, the need for air setting off another wave of adrenaline. She’s quick enough this time. With a knee to his groin, she fends him off and manages to reach for her gun. She’s pointed and fired the weapon, before he gets a chance to look up again. Chest heaving she steps over the body.  
“Geralt? Number one is down. Do you have eyes on two?”  
There is no response.  
“Fucking Fantastic.” She mutters and follows the dark corridor toward the entrance to the bathing area, gun first. Loud splashing noises greet her as she finally bursts through the doors. The second target crouches by the edge of the pool, fighting against Geralt’s panicked arms as he keeps him under water, drowning him. Without a second of hesitation, she aims and pulls the trigger. The bullet blasts through his head and he collapses right away, falling forward into the water and onto her still struggling partner. She rushes forward to help him pull the dead weight off of him and offers a hand to haul him out of the water. He stands on trembling legs, hunched over, spewing out water and wheezing. Yennefer doesn’t resist to pat his back, in an attempt to calm him down. She thinks she might be sick with the sudden wave of gut wrenching relief that hits her. Her mind proceeds to imagine how that could have ended.  
“What the fuck happened?” Her voice is shakier than she’d like.  
Geralt draws in a few deep breaths, before straightening up and looking at her.  
“I heard you scream.”  
“So?”  
“It threw me off.”  
“Are you saying it’s my fault?” Even while the words leave her lips she knows that the accusation is ridiculous. But they are both on edge. In all the years they’ve worked together, this has never happened. Not once. Geralt doesn’t just get distracted like that on a job. He has heard her scream many times before and it has never been the cause of such recklessness. He pulls a face, wringing water out of his long silver hair.  
“Yeah, well, would you be more considerate next time and scream more quietly.” Despite the blatant sarcasm it rubs her the wrong way.  
“I had to save your life, Rivia. Why don’t you check yourself, before your attention deficit gets us both killed.” He opens his mouth to clap back, but she won’t hear it. They also really aren’t in the right place to be having this conversation, or any conversation for that matter.  
“See you at the office.” She mumbles, letting him know she doesn’t want him to follow her.

**2 weeks later**

Yennefer stands in the kitchen of the Chinese restaurant that doubles as a front for the actual business. She’s made friends with the chefs over the years and occasionally they would allow her presence during working hour. Whenever she needs to tap out of her sometimes rather grueling day to day, she comes down and picks up a knife, chopping, dicing and peeling away her stress. Today she hasn’t even bothered going up after returning from the job. She’s helping Sabrina wash box after box of lettuce. The repetitive action, not requiring any brain activity is the welcome distraction she needs. Although she’s basically just been sitting and waiting on her target all day. Someone that shouldn’t have put up a fight the way he did. Resulting in the currently blossoming black and blue shapes around her right eye. Sabrina is talking to her and she nods and smiles, but doesn’t really follow her words.  
When Geralt bursts through the doors it is with enough noise to have everyone look up from their work. He’s clearly pissed, stomping through the kitchen to the walk-in, ignoring their stares. Nobody comments as the heavy door falls shut behind him.  
“I’m gonna go see what he’s so worked up about.” She says to Sabrina, smiling mischievously.  
“If he had a worse day than me, I need to know.” Sabrina laughs a full belly laugh and dismisses her with a pat on the shoulder. When she enters the fridge, the doors of the elevator are about to close.  
“Hold on!” His eyes widen in surprise, but he steps forward, keeping the door from closing all the way. Smiling idly she jogs the few meters until she stands in front of him, having to crank her neck to find his eyes. He’s frowning, probably at the bruises, she decides.  
“Got you good that one, huh?” His voice is calm and collected, but she can tell that he’s holding back some anger. Waving a hand she opts against telling him about it, grateful that he doesn’t pry.  
“So what’s got your panties in a bunch?” She teases, pursing her lips subconsciously.  
Squeezing his eyes shut for a moment he drags his hand over his face, shaking his head.  
“I was ready to finish a job today…” He pauses finding her gaze again.  
“Well, someone was faster than me.”  
“Fuck, really? Who? Not Fringilla, again?”  
The elevator jerks to a halt and they exit it side by side. Yennefer keeps looking at him expectantly.  
“She’s my best guess.”  
“How long ago?”  
He shrugs.  
“Body was still warm.”  
She clicks her tongue.  
“They are starting to get in our way.”  
“And on my nerves.”  
A high pitched shriek stops them in their tracks. Nenneke is rushing toward them, glaring at Yennefer angrily when she comes to a halt.  
“Why do you never call!? I was about to leave!” She hisses, while reaching for her head and tilting it from side to side to inspect her bad eye.  
“I’m fine.” Yennefer rolls her eyes and Geralt chuckles.  
“I’ll be the judge of that.” Turning her around she nudges her toward the medic station. Yennefer concedes with a tired sigh.  
“I’m gonna talk to Philippa.” Geralt mutters more to himself than anyone as he walks off.

He finds her again, sitting on a counter, hunched over her phone in the otherwise abandoned kitchen.  
“You’re still here?” Honestly he has no sense of how much time has passed.  
She looks up at him, smirking wearily.  
“Nenneke was thorough, as always.”  
“And? Are you going to make it through the night?”  
“Looks like it.” She flashes her teeth at him and it softens his features noticeably.  
“What did Philippa say?”  
“Not what I was hoping for.”  
“Unsurprisingly. Care to talk about it?”  
“Drinks?”  
“Yes please.”

The most acceptable Bar closest to the office isn’t too full, yet, which Yennefer acknowledges with relief. They find a quiet corner and he rolls his eyes when she raises one eyebrow at the whiskey sour, he orders. After a brief silence, Geralt cocks his head, observing her pensively.  
“Damn, Yen. Your eye.”  
“Ugh, don’t remind me.”  
“Put some ice on that, at least.” He says and as though it is the most natural thing, he dips his fingers into his glass, fishing out an ice cube and lifts it up to her face. Holding her breath she lets him run it over her throbbing skin. It relieves the dull ache a little and so she closes her eyes for a moment, breathing deeply. Geralt doesn’t speak, lost in her beauty. As the ice melts away, it drips down her cheek over his hand and down his arm. Neither care. He has leaned over, close enough for her to feel his breath gingerly tickling her skin. The hairs on her forearms stand on end. Seeing her with such an ugly injury elicits burning rage in him, an urgent need to find the guy who caused it and kill him slowly. But since she already took care of that, all he can do is show her that he cares. Every time his fingers make contact with her soft skin, it feels like tiny bolts of lightning strike him. Something has recently shifted between them. He can’t quite place it, though. It’s frustrating. All he seems to want to do these days is be close to her, touch her. His mind goes back to the few times they had found themselves tangled beneath the sheets. The memory lights a fire below his navel. He’s so close, if he just leaned forward a little more, he could so easily get a taste. But when his fingers are empty he snaps out of his reverie and drops his hand to the table. She blinks rapidly and both lean back suddenly. Clearing his throat, he stands.  
“Hang on, Vengerburg. There is a better way to do that.” He mutters and leaves. Yennefer isn’t so sure there is a better way, as she stares into space, rubbing her hands on her thighs restlessly. What just happened? Since when did it feel so good to have Geralt touch her like that? She doesn’t get to ponder on it further as Geralt returns, bearing a little plastic bag filled with ice. She accepts it giving him a small nod and he sinks back onto his chair, this time leaving a saver distance between them.  
“So, did you want to tell me what Philippa said?”  
He shifts a little making the chair under him creak.  
“He said not to get involved with the other agency. The less we know, the better. We tolerate them and they tolerate us, but that doesn’t work if we start snooping..and I quote: We assassinate the worst of human kind, which often just happen to be some of the most powerful people in the world. We don’t need to make more enemies.” He shrugs, sipping on his drink.  
“And did you remind him that they are costing us money?”  
That makes him laugh.  
“Now you’re thinking like one of them.”  
“What? The worst of human kind?”  
“You’re up there.”  
“Please, I’m an angel.”  
“Maybe a fallen one.”  
“The deadliest kind.”  
A smirk lingers around her lips as his expression hardens again.  
“You know as long as it keeps being these small incidents, I don’t think he’s bothered. But I’m not so sure what they think about all that.. I wouldn’t bet on their principals and respect.”  
“Let’s keep an eye on it. Between us.”

After Geralt’s first near death experience on their mission together, similar things have happened, resulting in Yennefer having to save his life once more in just two weeks, which is why now she has to fight to keep her cool, when Geralt suddenly stops responding. Immediately, dread forms a lump in her throat and panic creeps up her spine, threatening to cloud her mind. She’s running now. Luckily nobody does a double take when she rushes past them, with her scrubs and stethoscope slung around her neck, she becomes part of the picture. Turning the corner she nearly bumps into a nurse who has to jump aside to evade her. But not even she stops to turn and stare at her. The hallway she’s sprinting through is empty and so she tries to reach him again.  
“Rivia! Geralt! Do you copy?!”  
But, once more, she is met with utter silence. Shit. She’s in the staircase now, taking three steps at a time she basically flies up to the roof where he should be if he’s still in position. Bursting through the heavy door she steps out into the brisk night air, gun first. Muffled sounds of a fight draw her closer to the edge of the building. Sure enough two figures roll out of the shadows, wrestling for their lives. The attacker clearly has the upper hand, pressing Geralt into the ground, hands around his neck.  
They still haven’t noticed her, so she sneaks up toward them and once she’s close enough letting the handle of her weapon come down onto his head hard enough to knock him right out.  
He collapses onto Geralt, who is panting and gasping for air. Yennefer hurries to help him pull the body off of him and watches as he jumps to his feet with a dizzying feeling of relief.  
“Why does this feel like it’s becoming a habit?” She asks after giving him a moment to compose himself.  
Once he can breathe again he pins his eyes on her.  
“You...You..what the fuck took you so long?”  
Yennefer’s jaw drops.  
“Are you taking a piss, Rivia? I just saved your life. How about a “thank you.”?”  
He scoffs, running a hand over his flushed face.  
“Got pretty close there.”  
“Yeah well, if you had watched your back better, this wouldn’t have happened in the first place. We’re behind schedule, now. If he slips us, because of this, you’re going to wish I’d have come too late.”  
“Damn, Vengerburg.” To her dismay a grin brightens his face.  
“Just, deal with this.” She gestures at the unmoving form before them.  
“I’ll go take care of Davis.”  
At least Geralt is wise enough not to argue with her. Turning on her heels she rushes back down to the second floor. If she’s quick enough he should still be in the reading room. And if she’s just lucky enough he’s still alone. Her ear piece crackles and she pulls a face at the uncomfortable sensation.  
“Hey, Vengerburg. If you need me, just let me know. I’ll prep your bike and see ya at the office.”  
He sounds a bit defeated and she’s annoyed at how much she hates that.  
She doesn’t answer as a group of chatting nurses walk by and she is almost there now. Hooking her hand onto the door frame she swings into the dark room. Smiling triumphantly upon indeed finding Davis alone, studying an x-ray of a shattered ankle. He looks up startled when she closes the door behind her. Before he even gets the chance to inquire about her presence, she has already pulled out her gun. She fires it, as always, with deadly accuracy and doesn’t stay to watch him slide out of the chair.

Her bike waits for her at the designated spot and so she gets away without further interruptions. While she meanders her way through London traffic she can’t help but think about what she’ll tell Philippa. This can’t go on. It’s getting too dangerous. Something about their usually fantastic work dynamic is just off, has been for a while now. Which is too long. She’s not sure what it is, but it doesn’t just feel like a run of bad luck, anymore. Descending into the garage closest to the restaurant she parks in the darkest corner she can find. Her stride becomes increasingly urgent the closer she gets. Before she enters through the front, she stops. Taking a deep breath, she gathers her hair into a messy bun and mouthing encouragement to herself, she crosses the threshold. She slithers through the reasonably filled room and walks into the mayhem that is the kitchen. Not even a handful of chefs barely acknowledge her as she makes her way to the back. When she finally reaches the walk-in she hurries to push aside the shelf full of lettuce to uncover the elevator buttons. She waits no more than a minute before she steps onto the lift. Forcing herself to take another controlled breath she emerges from the sliding doors, feeling a bit more collected. Geralt’s thundering voice from the medic station draws her toward Nenneke who stands before the giant of a man, trying to persuade him into letting her check him for injuries.  
“I’m perfectly fine.” He catches sight of Yennefer, approaching them with caution and beams.  
“There she is! Did you get him?”  
“Of course, I did.” Her eyes flicker to his neck which bears angry red marks, some of which are blooming into darker colors.  
“Are you OK, Geralt?” She asks stupidly, despite of just having heard him assure as much.  
He smiles tiredly, briefly digging the pad of his thumb into the bridge of his nose.  
“Yes, I’m good. I’m really touched by your concern for me, guys. Truly. But I’m really fine.”  
He looks at Nenneke intently, who raises her arms in surrender and walks off shaking her head.  
“Hey, listen.” He turns his attention back on Yennefer.  
“Thank you for saving my ass. Again.”  
The last word leaves him looking contrite. Sighing deeply she takes a step toward him.  
“Geralt, what’s wrong with you, lately?”  
An awkward chuckle escapes him as he holds her inquisitive gaze.  
“Yennefer, I can’t..” He pauses, looks to the floor and back at her.  
“I can’t focus when I work with you.” A sentence that he could easily have meant to accuse her of distracting him, but it somehow doesn’t sound like that at all. It’s sincere, a hint of sadness to his tone.  
She stands stunned, her mouth opens, but closes again before she can say anything. She doesn’t know what to say. Philippa breaks the growing silence.  
“Yennefer. You’re back. Did you -”  
She spins around to face her, interrupting her question.  
“We can’t work together, anymore. It’s not going to end well..”  
Philippa’s eyebrows wander up the tiniest bit, but she doesn’t look surprised.  
“If you mean the couple of hiccups of the past weeks..” She tries, but this time it’s Geralt, who cuts her off:  
“She’s right, boss. We should work on our own accounts for a while, at least.”  
Philippa pulls up her shoulders unfazed.  
“Fine, then. We can see if that solves the problem.”


	2. Chapter 2

Sitting crammed between tired empty faced people on their commute to their real jobs she clutches onto her tray of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies. Fitting the roll she took over for her current mission. Now she is the kind of woman who brings cookies to work, first thing in the morning. In the beginning she was so excited to be given such an important project. Pablo De la fuente, a Spaniard responsible for many innocent deaths, involved not only with the Columbian Narcos, but international human trafficking, as well. He is the embodiment of a modern day monster. But it turns out that in order to get to him, she was forced to take a job at his company as a personal assistant. Which isn’t a very desired job to begin with, the girl she had to bribe to quit the job so that the position was free had happily conceded. Now she understands why. Mandatory work “uniform” is a tight pencil skirt and four fucking inches of toe destroying high heels. If she wouldn’t already have wanted to kill him before, now she dreamed about snapping his neck in two.  
She tries to calm her frayed nerves with the prospect of gathering enough info to make the move by the end of the week. She already knows his exact comings and goings, the shift changes of his personal bodyguards, their strengths and weaknesses, the location of every single surveillance camera. She has yet to obtain access to the CCTV control center and most unfortunately she has to keep allowing him to humiliate her with his highly inappropriate comments and lingering hands. Just so that he keeps her around during the late nights. The robotic voice announcing her stop snaps her out of her thoughts. Standing up on unsteady feet she squeezes through the crowd as quickly as the restraining piece of clothing around he legs allows. 

The cookies grant her thankful smiles by her “coworkers”. She winks at De la fuente as he walks past her desk, not without basically devouring her with his eyes. The second he turns the corner, she shudders and pulls a disgusted grimace. The only positive aspect of this is that his misogyny makes it impossible for him to ever suspect her or see her as something more than just a piece of meat.  
As expected he calls her into his office mere minutes later. He makes her stand next to him and point out his schedule for the day. His hand lurks at the small of her back and falls to her ass, giving it a stinging smack to send her away, once she’s done. Instead of whirling around and slapping him across his ugly face, she looks back at him, smiling.

Her phone is ringing when she returns to her desk.  
“Hannah? There is a Henry Smith here to see you.”  
“Who?”  
“Henry? He says it’s urgent.”  
“Huh. I got five minutes, I suppose. I’ll be right down.”  
Happy for the excuse to escape De la fuente’s proximity she makes her way down to reception, cursing her shoes with every step. She has to swallow down a gasp when her eyes fall onto the tall familiar figure, waiting for her in the Lobby.  
“Henry?” She tries not to sound as furious as she feels. Geralt spins around, beaming in delight at the sight of her.  
“There you are.”  
He opens his arms for a hug, but she pushes him away.  
“What are you doing here!?”  
“Step outside for a sec?”  
“Ugh, fine. You got five minutes.”  
She follows him out the huge glass doors reluctantly, wrapping her arms around her middle when the cool wind hits her bare arms.  
“What the fuck, Geralt.” She hisses, once she’s sure no one can hear her.  
He has the audacity to broaden his grin as he shuffles his feet.  
“You could compromise my identity!”  
“Why? Doesn’t Hannah have friends?”  
She huffs exasperated.  
“Not ones that are called Henry Smith.”  
A soft chuckle moves his shoulders.  
“Sorry, I just wanted to see for myself.” His gaze wanders up and down her body.  
“You look good.”  
She scoffs.  
“Please, Geralt. Have you ever known me not to look good? I absolutely despise these skirts.” Grabbing her waistband she tries to twist the fabric a fruitless attempt to gain some range of motion.  
“I’m all for looking good, but I do prefer keeping my mobility. It makes me want to go up there, stand on his fucking ugly desk and burn my bra in front of him.”  
Geralt grins brightly.  
“Sounds like fun.”  
She observes his amusement with growing dismay.  
“You’re enjoying this way too much!”  
“Yeah, I am. For once you’re having a harder time than I..”  
He admits easily, no trace if shame in his tone.  
When he crosses his arms, it makes his biceps pop, causing her gaze to drop for the split of a second. She really needs him to fuck off.  
“Don’t you have your own project to work on?”  
“Just completed one.”  
“Who?”  
“Dave Becker.”  
“The serial rapist, who cuts out his victim’s tongues?”  
“The one and only.”  
“Motherfucker.”  
“Shouldn’t you thank me? I just made the city a little bit safer.”  
“Yeah, well every idiot can shoot a perve in his apartment. I’m about to make the world a little bit safer. Now excuse me and don’t you dare come back here!”  
She leaves him grinning smugly for having worked her up so much. She knows he just does it to tease her and she gives him the satisfaction by letting it prick her. But the last couple of weeks have really worn down her stamina to endure bullshit. Stomping back inside the receptionists voice startles her:  
“Who was that? An Ex?”  
“He’s a fucking creep. If he returns, send him away, OK?”  
She shrugs idly.  
“Sure. But he’s hot, though.”  
Rolling her eyes she refrains from making a condescending comment.

Sweat runs down her back, dancing on the spot as she wins the fight with the punching bag. Imagining De la fuentes face on it helps to let off some steam. She’s barely been on the mission a week and is already over it. Something shifts in the air when Geralt walks in. She tries to ignore him and focus on her work out, although it’s really anger management at this point. But she can’t help but stare, when he sets down the huge box he’s carrying. He catches her gaze and winks at her, before pulling out an enormous two handed sword. Her arms fall to her sides and she stands still as she watches him inspect the weapon.  
“What the fuck, Geralt?” The confusion evident in her voice.  
“Cool, isn’t it?” He swings the sword around a few times with ease, the sharp whooshing sound sending her hairs to stand on end.  
“You can’t use that on a job, are you insane?”  
He clicks his tongue.  
“It’s not for the job, Vengerburg.”  
“Then why do you have it?”  
“For fun.”  
“Fun?”  
“Yeah. Or relaxation, if you will. It’s my running or meditation, my punching bag.. it works for me to keep me grounded.”  
Yennefer cocks her head, resting her hands on her hips.  
“But you would like to use it on a mission one day, wouldn’t you? Feel like a knight for a day?”  
She teases, lips pursed.  
He just huffs. Acting on a sudden urge she reaches out to touch the blade. He observes her with narrow eyes.  
“Can I try?”  
He shakes his head at her.  
“What?” Her jaw drops to the floor.  
“The way you were treating that punching bag, before. I think maybe you should stay away from lethal weapons for the moment.”  
Rotating her eyes exaggeratedly she turns and walks away.  
“Have fun with your toy, Rivia. If you need to play with a medieval weapon to to feel superior, go right ahead. I still killed more monsters than you.” 

“What!? But I’ve been working on that case for weeks! You don’t know what I have to endure on the daily! I’ve done the hard part. I don’t need his help.”  
Philippa scowls at her.  
“This is not up for discussion, Vengerburg. We can’t allow any missteps now. I have to make sure that you take him out.”  
A frustrated grunt escapes her as her fists clench. Geralt smiles so smugly she is itching to wipe it off his face with a well directed punch to the nose.  
“Come on, Yen. It’s gonna be fun.”  
Philippa’s phone rings and he shoos them away with the flick of his wrist.  
“What the fuck! Why doesn’t she trust me?”  
She thinks out loud as they step out of her office.  
“I don’t think she doesn’t trust you. Maybe she really just wants to be safe. Two are better than one, after all.” He offers conciliatory.  
Yennefer looks up at him with stormy eyes, he can almost feel the rage course through her veins and it chases an icy shower down his spine.  
“We’re doing this my way, Rivia. I’m in command, is that clear?”  
“Crystal.” He’s smart enough not to tease her, but his eyes can’t hide his amusement. When she turns abruptly, he can’t contain the grin that stretches his cheeks.

Yennefer walks with purpose, the gun strapped around her thigh calming her nerves. It’s late enough for most of the staff to have already left. Only a few cleaners and interns still bustle about. Nobody looks at her twice. They have gotten used to her presence during the late nights. It wouldn’t be the first time De la fuente kept a secretary around until late at night in an attempt to seduce her. Yennefer can’t wait to get it all over with. She hates this roll she is playing.  
“Yennefer.” Geralt’s voice is deep and collected in her ear.  
“I’ve got eyes on him. He’s alone, like you said.”  
Smiling to herself she picks up the pace, she turns the corner to the boss’s corridor, when Geralt’s voice pitches:  
“He killed the lights! I can’t see! Go now, go, go, go.”  
She sprints the last few meters to the door, tearing it open she flips the switch and freezes. De la fuente is lying face down on the floor in a pool of blood. Dead.  
“No. Fuck, fuck, fuck.”  
She takes a few shaky steps toward the body. Just when she’s about to roll him over, Geralt’s voice makes her flinch.  
“You gotta go. Now! Now!”  
“Shit.”  
Panicked shouts from the hallway close in on her as she darts out the door. But she’s not fast enough. The sound of fired shots not far from her, turns her blood to ice. Bullets miss her by mere centimeters as she runs, runs as fast as she can.  
“Yen! Go, go, go!” He tries to cheer her on. Turning the corner she yanks open the door to the stair case, knowing that she’s fucked. It’s much easier to miss your target shooting up than down.  
Keeping as close to the wall as possible she fires her gun upward and back a few times in the hopes of hitting something. Instead of a scream, she hears Geralt again:  
“I got Sec one and three. There are two left. I will be in the car, waiting for you. You can do this. Just keep moving.” His breath is ragged indicating that he is already on the move. This is good, she thinks. It’s only two. It’s Vedran and Paul. Vedran is fat and Paul is old. Neither are eager to lose their lives over this job. She has a chance. A bullet hits the wall just before her as she jumps down an entire flight of stairs, tripping and falling down the next. It knocks the wind out of her and gritting her teeth she picks herself back up. Just keep moving, just keep moving. Another shot is fired and this time it sounds dangerously close, followed by searing pain at her upper arm. Fuck. She doesn’t have time to look at the injury, but she can feel the blood trickle down her arm, hot and thick, leaving a trail of drops on the stone floor. now she can see the neon green light of the emergency exit. She can taste the chance of life on the tip of her tongue.  
“Yennefer! I’m here! Are you still there, Vengerburg?” The panic in his voice gives her the energy to leap for the door.  
“I’m here!” Stumbling onto the street, she sees Geralt in the driver’s seat, pushing open the door for her. Basically diving into the car she tells him to drive. He steps on the gas even before she manages to pull the door shut again. Vedran and Paul rush out onto the sidewalk, guns pointed at them. They fire two more shots before Geralt turns onto a smaller street.  
Yennefer turns around, staring through the windshield in shock. What the hell was that? Anything that could have gone wrong did. And who the fuck killed De la fuente?  
“Yennefer.” Geralt is glancing at her out of the corner of his eye.  
“You’ve been hit.” he determines, voice hoarse. Looking down onto her arm she finds a gaping wound, where the bullet grazed her skin, still gushing blood.  
“Shit.”  
“Here.” He reaches back, grabbing a sweater. She presses it onto the throbbing graze carefully. Throwing her head back she groans.  
“Fucking shit.”  
“Yen, that was so close... I thought…” he swallows heavily.  
“Did you see anyone?” She asks instead of indulging in his train of thought, because it’s only down from there.  
“I did.” Her head snaps up to stare at him.  
“and?”  
He sighs.  
“It was Fringilla.”  
“What!?”  
“She was on the roof.”  
“But how? It was too fast. I should have seen something..”  
“I know, it doesn’t make sense.”  
“Something is off.”  
he nods in agreement, then after a brief silence, he adds:  
“Yennefer, I.. I’m sorry.”  
“Sorry for what?”  
“You had your back to the wall out there… I should have…”  
“Don’t. What’s done is done. We couldn’t have known that this was going to happen..” She falters when he vision blurs. A very sudden, stifling exhaustion overwhelms her. Closing her eyes she forces herself to breathe deeply. His hand is on her knee, keeping her anchored.  
“Yennefer. Yen! Stay with me, babe.” He closes his fingers around her leg, shaking her slightly.  
She starts up, staring at him wide eyed.  
“What?”  
“You’re losing too much blood.” he states matter-of-factly.  
“Just stay awake, OK? We’re almost there.” His worried amber eyes dance before her like fire flies. A wave of nausea nearly pulls her under and she fights the urge to retch. His hand now moves from her knee to the already dripping red sweater. The pressure he applies almost makes her scream, but she manages to curse at him instead.  
“Call me what you want, just hang on, OK?”  
She nods wearily, attempting a smile. He looks really concerned and she doesn’t like to see him like that.  
“I’m fine, Geralt.” Her own voice sounds oddly distorted and far away.  
“You don’t look fine to me, Yen.”  
“I’m just tired.”  
“I know. Just stay with me a bit longer. Tell me a story, Vengerburg.”  
"What?" “Anything. Tell me something about yourself that I don’t yet know.”  
“Um.. I don’t know.. I think you know me pretty well..”  
“Then I’ll tell you a story. But you gotta listen, OK? I’ll quiz you on it. Are you listening?”  
“Yes.”  
“Good. The second foster home I stayed at was the one where I met Lambert. He was a lot smaller, then. Downright scrawny, actually. The other kids in the neighborhood loved to pick on him. So, this one time, we found a raven in the little woods behind our house. But it couldn’t fly and was just hopping around, flapping it’s wings. Are you listening, Yen?”  
An exasperated sigh leaves her lips as she looks at him with a bit more clarity.  
“Yes, you found a raven in the woods…”  
Something like relief flickers across his face.  
“Yes, good. So we took it home. It sat on my shoulder like a parrot. But our foster mum was not having it. She wanted us to leave it outside to die, said that it carried diseases, which to be fair, it definitely already had flees. Yennefer, what did my mum think about the bird?”  
“She didn’t want it in the house.”  
“That’s exactly right.”  
“I feel better already, Geralt. I’m not going to pass out, I promise.”  
He eyes her skeptically.  
“Don’t go throwing around promises like that.”  
He slows down the car as they near their destination. The pebble stones of his drive way gnash under the tires and the second he opens the door, the heavy scent of summer rain floods her nostrils. It has an instantly calming effect on her. Geralt slings a supportive arm around her middle as she stands on relatively stable legs. She allows it more to make him feel better than because she needs it. He guides her up the small crest that leads to the rustic yet modern looking house. Trees line the brick walls, all sorts of plants and flowers grow randomly as nature tries to reconquer the area. She’s never been here and it feels oddly intimate. Somehow she knows that he doesn’t just let people see this, all strategic reasons of her presence considered.  
“Are you here a lot?” She asks curiously when he ushers her through the front door. The interior is sparsely furnished, everything is kept in light wooden tones, clean and simple. A crimson rug provides the only form of decoration. It doesn’t lack anything else, though. The simplicity is easy on the mind and she instantly feels at home.  
“Not as much as I’d like.” He admits, disappearing in what she assumes is the bathroom.  
“Sit down.” He orders, before reemerging, first aid kit in hand. Yennefer hasn’t moved, gaze still wandering over the ceiling, framed by robust beams.  
“Will you sit down, so I can patch you up?” She detects a hint of annoyance in his voice and it makes her smile.  
“Relax, Rivia. I’m fine. It’s just a scratch.” She is still clutching the wet fabric to her arm, scared to look under it.  
“A scratch doesn’t bleed like that.” Placing both his hands on either of her shoulders he gently pushes her into the next chair. She concedes with a soft sigh and dutifully holds out her arm. Pulling another chair close, he perches on the edge of it, cradles her arm, discarding the hoodie and immediately presses gauze onto the wound. It’s still bleeding, but it’s manageable now. Geralt lifts the bandage carefully and inspects the damage, forehead creasing.  
“Looks like it got your axillary artery.” He looks up, eyes alarmed again.  
“That could have gone much different.” they both swallow. He cleans the cut, which makes her howl out in pain. He mumbles an apology, before starting to place the stitches. Admiring his skilled fingers she distracts herself from the throbbing ache. From his hands her gaze wanders up to his face, tense in concentration, she realizes, not for the first time, how handsome he is. It elicits a strange warm and fuzzy feeling around her chest. He finishes up impressively quickly and by the time he’s wrapped up her arm in a tight clean bandage she is half asleep. So when he lifts her out of the chair and into his arms with ease she barely even blinks, instinctively hooking her arms around his neck.  
“I got you.” He murmurs and the vibration that transfers onto her from his chest makes her quiver. When he lowers her onto the bed there is a sudden strange feeling of uncertainty that tears her out from her half slumber. She folds her fingers into his collar before he lets her go, holding him in place, bent over, face hovering a breath from hers.  
“Geralt..” Her voice wanders a little, unfocused.  
“Yes?” He sits down next to her, gingerly running his knuckles over her cheekbone.  
“What happened to the bird?”  
“What?”  
“To the raven you found with your brother.”  
“Oh. You’re still thinking about that?” A soft chuckle moves his Adam’s apple.  
“Are you gonna tell me or no?” Her patience is dwindling amid the heavy, heavy exhaustion that is starting to spread throughout her every fiber.  
“Of course.”  
He settles onto the bed next to her, gently pressing his thumbs into her temples to relieve some tension. The moan that escapes her at the feeling is almost obscene. But she’s way too tired to care.  
“After our mum sent us out of the house, we wandered around the neighborhood for a while. We found some seeds on a corner shop and it ate them right up, out of our palms. Must have been starving.” His fingers move to another pressure point just below her inner brow bone.  
“But then Lambert’s bullies spotted us. They laughed and made fun of him, called him a witch. I don’t really see how that’s not a compliment, but they found it hilarious.” Now he threads both his hands into her hair, carefully massaging her skull. Pleased he watches how her shoulders drop and the crease on the bridge of her nose flattens.  
“So, naturally I had to defend him. Back then I didn’t control my anger very well. I started a fight with them, beat them up good.” He smiles smugly at the memory.  
“But it startled the bird and it flew off. Lambert wasn’t happy about it’s recovery for very long, he even got all mad at me for shoeing away the raven, even though I ended up with a black eye for him.”  
He scoffs in faux outrage and looks down on her for a reaction, but she is already fast asleep.


	3. Chapter 3

When she stirs it’s with a reluctant groan and a pounding headache. Clatters and gentle humming form the kitchen draw her attention to Geralt, rattling about with pots and pans. Pushing herself up to a seated position, she clears her throat. He turns right away, looking at her with a cheerful smile.  
“Yen! You’re up! How are you feeling?”  
Crossing the room with two easy strides he stands in front of her.  
“God, Geralt. Isn’t it too early to be this happy?” She mumbles, briefly swiping her hand over her face, which must look like a fucking mess, she’s sure. Blatantly ignoring her comment, he continues:  
“Are you hungry? Thirsty? In pain?”  
Exhaling lloudly she looks back up at him.   
“My head’s killing me.” She confesses through gritted teeth.  
He passes her a bottle of water and some ibuprofen which she downs gratefully. A satisfied moan escapes her involuntarily after her thirst is quenched. It makes her feel good enough to even muster a wry smile. To her surprise her lowers himself to sit down next to her, resting a hand on her knee. As he struggles to find the right words, his eyes flicker up her body, pausing at the bandaged arm, before they find her face again.   
“I was really worried about you, yesterday… it looked pretty bad there for a second.” The declaration is sincere.  
Suddenly embarrassed she evades his gaze. She can feel him observing her intently and it makes something coil inside of her.  
“I talked to Philippa this morning.” He says finally. Her head snaps up toward him at that.  
“She’s going to kill us.”  
“I wouldn’t worry so much. She already let off some steam with me. I told her it was my fault things went awry..” She scowls at him incredulously.   
“What? Why? Why would you do that?”  
He stands abruptly, burying his hands in the pockets of his jeans.   
“Because I felt bad, Yen. You could have gotten killed and I obviously missed something.. If I had been more alert, I could’ve…”  
“Stop it. What’s done is done. I’m too tired for the blame game to be quite honest.”  
He swallows thickly.  
“What I really want to know is how the fuck Fringilla got to him before us.”  
He drags his thumb across his jawline pensively.  
“We should confront her.” She suggests.  
His brows climb up slightly.  
“You think she’ll talk to us?”  
He doesn’t sound very convinced. Yennefer shrugs idly, a mischievous grin starting to form on her lips.  
“I have my ways to loosen a tongue.”  
They both chuckle, imagining their revenge.  
“What did Philippa say?”  
“Wants us to lay low for a couple days. The shooting drew too much attention. They’re handling it, but we can’t be seen in the city, until the coast is clear, again.”  
Yennefer nods slowly.  
“That seems about right.”

Geralt proceeds to insist on feeding her the breakfast he whipped up with a tbread that could at best be described as thoroughly toasted, at worst burned. A scrambled egg, lacking any kind of seasoning and a handful of raspberries. The only good thing about the array is the coffee. But she finds herself hungry enough to look past the unpleasant aftertastes. He lifts her spirits with one of his well rehearsed stories about his most curious missions and by the time her plate is empty she feels her energy returning.  
“You already got some color back.” He comments happily, vaguely circling a finger in front of her nose. A wry smile sneaks onto her lips and leaps up to her eyes. His presence occupies her full attention and thus simply doesn’t leave room for her to start to worry about everything that just happened. But when she stands alone in his bathroom, only wearing a plastic bag around her arm the panic begins to creep back slowly. She just committed the gravest fuck up of her career, nearly dying in the process and letting escape one of the most wanted people in the country, who’s criminal influence spreads far beyond the borders. And she is to blame for the failure of the mission because of her stubbornness. If she wouldn’t have insisted on doing the job her way and would have left Geralt room to help her, maybe they could have avoided all this trouble. Stupidly the only reason for her persistence was to prove a point. To prove that she could do it by herself. That she didn’t need Geralt’s help. Even though she had a track record that clearly showed that. Hurrying to get under the shower she places her hands onto the tiles, concentrating on taking in even breaths, attempting to pacify her racing mind. Closing her eyes she lets the warm water run over her back. How could it have slipped her that Fringilla has been set on the same project? Fucking Fringilla. She scoffs, spewing out water. If she would ever get a hold of her, she’d better run like the fucking wind. Three weeks, three miserable weeks of wearing pencil skirts and lacy bras and high heels. Three weeks of humiliation and getting insulted on the daily. All for nothing. What if Philippa replaces her? It’s not like she could just find another job. At least not here. She’d have to move at least half way across the globe.   
“Yen?” Geralt’s thundering voice from outside the door startles her.  
“Are you all right in there?” He treats her differently now. She has never known him to be this attentive, this worried for her. She didn’t know what to do with all that.   
“Yennefer!? Are you still alive?” Oh. She could have sworn she’d said something.  
“Yes! I’m fine.” She can’t decide if it’s endearing or annoying that he fusses over her so much. Finishing up her shower she pulls on the T-shirt that he lent her. Unsurprisingly it’s huge on her, easily covering her thighs. Since it’s hot out today she doesn’t bother with the pants. Geralt is on the phone when she steps out into the living room, but he holds it out to her when he sees her.  
“Philippa wants to talk to you.” Her heart clenches painfully and her palms start to sweat. She snatches the mobile from his hand, wishing to get it over with.  
As expected Philippa makes it clear that she is quite disappointed in them and that she doesn’t understand how she could have let this happen. Reminding her, unnecessarily what a big deal De la fuente was and how much money she cost them. Apologizing, she promises to do better and tries to hold onto the positive, when she hangs up. She hasn’t been fired. However the events of last night and the past weeks swirl around her head, making her dizzy and her breath hitch in her throat. She sees De la fuente on the ground in a pool of his own blood, hears the shots fired behind her, feels the bullets missing her by mere centimeters. The phone slips out of her fingers and falls to the floor as she recalls De la fuente groping her, her blood dying Geralt’s car red, remembers vividly the feeling of pure horror all the times she had to save his life. His neck, red and blue, his sad eyes. His voice, telling her that he can’t focus around her.  
“Yennefer.” Geralt’s hands are on her shoulders.  
“Yen, you gotta breathe.” Oh, right. She wills her self to fill her lungs with oxygen.  
Her body is stiff and so tense it hurts, as he grabs her hand and pulls her with him.   
“Come on, Vengerburg.” She follows blindly. Leading her out of the house into the back yard, he leaves her standing on the porch, holding onto opposite elbows, hunched over. But he returns heartbeats later, keeping her from spiraling further into the darkness of her own thoughts. It takes her a moment to process what he holds in his hand. And when she does, she can’t keep her mouth from falling open in utter bewilderment.   
“Geralt, Wha-” He cuts her off mid sentence:  
“I know you think it’s stupid, but try it.” He holds out the sword expectantly. She stares at him perplexed.  
He tries an encouraging smile and the fact that he seems to be sincere convinces her.   
“Fine.” She picks the weapon from his fingers and experimentally swings it, drawing a cross into the air.  
“See?”  
She rolls her eyes dramatically, but finds some distraction in whipping around the deadly steel. Geralt lets her swing around the weapon aimlessly for a while, before he tells her to hold on.  
He steps behind her, one hand on her elbow, the other on her waist. Nudging her to move her fists closer together.  
“If you hold it like this and bend your elbows more...”  
He adjusts her stance and posture until he’s happy. Since she’s holding onto an almost two meter long weapon, she lets him, trying to ignore the tingles his fingers kindle on her skin.  
“...You won’t put so much strain on your wrists.”  
He steps away from her again and she fights the sudden feeling of loss, the lack of his proximity provokes. Fortunately he appears before her seconds later, holding his own sword, a naughty grin between his cheeks. Instinctively she contracts all her muscles and grips onto the handle even tighter, white knuckles poking out at her. He twirls his sword and the steel collides, sending rippling heat through her bones, trying to resist the force. It causes her to stumble, but not to the ground. She recovers quickly, countering his attack, blades clashing with a loud clang. Adrenaline courses through her veins, pulling her out of the haze of circling thoughts and pushing her into reality. She just is now. Trying to fend off this giant of a man with a fucking sword. He obviously goes easy on her, giving her room to breathe and collect herself to counter his attacks, but maybe he underestimates her stamina, because she manages to slide er steel down his all the way to the handle, where she can easily twist his wrist and disarm him. His face falls in surprise as she presses the sharp point of the sword into his belly. A puckering feeling of pride warms her from the inside as she drops the weapon, throwing her hands overhead in victory.   
“You’re a natural.” His smile is almost coy as he looks down on her.  
“Yeah no shit, Rivia. I’m a professional killer, remember? You’re so full of it.”  
The release of tension evident throughout her entire body as she fights the urge to jump up and down like an excited child.  
“If you were trying to make a point, you failed. I still think it’s silly.”  
“That’s fine. Didn’t mean to change your mind. But it did what I wanted.”  
That makes her frown.  
“Distracted you, didn’t it?”

They continue to mess around with the swords for a while, until Yennefer is getting too good too fast and for the sake of his dignity, he asks her for a break. She relents, feeling about ready to conquer the world. Stepping inside he pulls off his shirt, drenched in sweat. She can’t help herself, when her gaze catches on the ripped muscles on his body. Like a moth drawn to a flame she takes a step toward him. She watches his jaw flex as he steps even closer. Her breath catches in her throat, her violet eyes are pinned on his amber ones. A gentle tingle arises in her lower belly, when he’s so close she can feel his breath on her skin. She doesn’t dare move. Geralt lifts his hands to her face, gingerly cupping her cheeks, tilting her head up slightly. She lets him put his forehead to hers, their noses touching. Both draw a deep breath, taking in their scents. This is different. They’ve been as close before and closer. But every touch would always be haste and frantic. Just a relief for the prickling tension that correlates with their bodies being close. But the way the pads of his thumbs trail up and down her cheek, the way his torso vibrates with his accelerated heartbeat, there is just more now. Slowly she lifts her hands to rest them against his chest, feeling the life beneath her fingers. Suddenly he drops his hands and takes a step back, leaving her face flushed from his touch. He’s still looking at her with the same intensity. The same spark, the same vulnerability, no one ever gets to see.  
“Yen, I…”  
He swallows thickly. She waits patiently, not about to give him a pass. She needs to hear it.   
“Fuck.”  
“What are you afraid of?” She tries, voice no more than a whisper.  
He chuckles lowly.  
“You.”  
There is a brief silence. Yennefer doesn’t budge.   
“Everything you are and mean to me. Not seeing you, not having you in my life..”  
“Why now, Geralt?”  
“I guess I.. I’ve never…It’s never gotten this close.”  
That’s the last drop for her. She’s on him in the next instant. Legs wrapped around his middle, arms wound around his neck, lips crashing together, hips grinding against him. He holds her up securely, reciprocating the kiss just as hungrily. He lights her bones on fire with the electricity his touch creates. The world fades away and all that is, is him, around her, on her, in her. He becomes part of her and she part of him, they coalesce and fuse. They send their clothes flying and he dumps her onto the bed, hastily covering her with his hard body. His hands brush her skin, his lips chase every curve of her. Her back arches and her hips buck up against him. She wants more. She wants everything. Something is new in the way they touch each other. It isn’t as feral, not as wild. But the desperation remains, the need for one another amplified. Yet, there is a tenderness there now. There is caution, there is fear and there is love. When he eases into her, she’s wet and hot and throbbing for him. His arms are around her, tight, yet careful. She drags her nails down his back gingerly, clinging onto him as to not float away with the feeling of bliss that comes over her. He moves slowly, almost lazily, making love to her. She rolls her hips in rhythm with his thrusts. They move in easy synchrony, as though they had rehearsed it many times. They know their buttons and he expertley draws quiet noises of pleasure out of her with. When she wraps her legs around his waist, once more, he knows what she wants and turns them around, handing over the power happily. She throws her head back and her hair cascades down her shoulders so beautifully, he can’t resist reaching out and catching some of it tangled between his fingers. He rides him thoroughly, savoring every part of him. A glorious grin blooms between her cheeks and makes his heart flutter. How could anyone be this gorgeous, he wonders briefly, as he engulfs her perfect breasts with his large hands, kneading them tenderly.   
“Fuck.” She breathes, when his thumb finds her clit, teasing her, building her up. She picks up the pace, matching the circles he draws. A gasp hitches in his throat as he watches every twitching muscle in her features. Observes, in awe, the ripple of sensation he causes in her. Letting his lids fall shut he lets the tension build and build and build, until he’s up so high, he might just touch the sky. Her name on his lips his chest floods with warmth and light and his entire being comes alight, floating, flying, before he crashes hard, shattering, bursting into a thousand shooting stars. She follows him shorty after, screaming, twitching and writhing atop him. She collapses onto his heaving chest and he just holds her there. There at his heart. Where he never wants her to leave, Where he never wants to let her go. 

Tracking her down turns out to be less tricky than at first anticipated. Geralt had a suspicion that Fringilla was already working on his next target and so she finds herself on the top of a decently high building in Southwark, when night begins to descend onto the buzzing city around her. She’s been waiting for a few hours, when she finally detects movement.  
Knuckles turning white in her iron grip around the small, but very sharp knife, she stands back to wall, no more than a shoulder width from the edge of the corner. Geralt was right about one thing. Fringilla loved to sneak around on roofs. She waits until the sound of her steps are close enough to jump out and onto her, pressing the blade to her neck, yanking her head back. The expression of shock is quickly replaced by recognition.   
“What the fuck, Vengerburg!?”  
“Shut up! Tell me how you did it!”  
“Did what?”  
“Don’t play dumb! Spit it out!”  
“I seriously have no idea what you mean.” The genuine confusion in her voice baffles her. Easing her lock hold slightly she slides off her, whipping her around and pushing her against the wall. This time her armed hand falls to her stomach, while she keeps her in place with a firm palm against her sternum. She winces against the feel of cold steel against her navel.  
“Fuck! Vengerburg! What do you want!?”  
“De la fuente. You were there.”  
“Yes, I was. So? You got him. He’s dead. What’s it matter now?”  
“You didn’t kill him?”  
“I thought you did.”  
“Shit.”  
“Wait? So, who killed him then?” She sounds just as muddled as Yennefer feels. Lowering both her hands she releases her and isn’t surprised when she stays put. Realization dawns on her bright and hot. Oh shit.  
“He isn’t dead.”  
“What?”  
“I didn’t see his face.”  
“But it’s been all over the news..”  
“He faked his death. He must’ve known we were coming for him..”  
“He’s still alive.” Fringilla’s voice echoes in her mind and she has no doubt she’ll hear those words in her sleep. She’s staring at her as she holds her gaze. She blinks once, twice and then they both bolt at the same time, running for the only exit as though their lives depended on it. And maybe they weren’t acutely at risk to lose them, but their reputations were certainly on the line. She’s quicker, reaching for the handle with enough margin to slip through the door, slamming it shut, before Fringilla can catch up.


	4. Chapter 4

Once Philippa is informed, it all happens incredibly quickly. The whole team is summoned within an hour and they work tirelessly to discover De la fuente’s hiding place. They laugh over his sheer stupidity when it turns out to be his birth place, Malaga.   
“He doesn’t know that we know. That should make it fairly easy.”  
Geralt says, closely observing Phillippa’s expression.  
“You can’t fuck this up a second time. So all you’re going to do is take direct orders from me. I don’t want you investigating on your own, I don’t want you seeking contact with our competition, again. You only report to me and you only take orders from me, is that clear?”  
Geralt nods as Yennefer crosses her arms.  
“You do realize that we only found out about this because I investigated by myself and met with our competition?”  
Phillippa arches an eyebrow, scrutinizing her.  
“And you should remember who employs who, Vengerburg. If you have a problem with this, there is the door.”  
The two women just stare at one another for a stretching silence. Geralt holds his breath. He wants to say something, to support his partner, because she’s right. But he can’t be the reason for Yennefer to get fired. So he bites his tongue. Yennefer tilts her chin up and releases the hold on her elbows.  
“Fine then. We’ll do is as you wish, boss.” 

Philippa gets them on the next flight to Malaga and they arrive at the gate two minutes before it closes. The tired stewardess looks them up and down with exasperation.  
“I was about to call your names.” She says dryly and hands them back their passports.  
“Enjoy your flight.”  
They mumble a thank you and proceed with hasty strides. Their seats are at the rear end of the plane, so they awkwardly shuffle through the tiny aisle, passing all passengers who are already seated. Geralt has to duck his head in order to do so and hence he doesn’t see her. Fringilla is sitting next to a freckled red head no more than two rows in front of their designated seats. Luckily both of them seem preoccupied with the map, they’re studying and remain oblivious to their presence. Once their luggage is finally stored and she managed to squeeze past Geralt to get into the window seat, she leans over to whisper the news into his ears. He tenses instantly, locking eyes with her, leaning impossibly closer to continue their conversation as quietly as possible:  
“Are you sure?”  
“Positive.”  
“What do we do?”   
“Your guess is as good as mine. It’s not like we could throw them out the plane..”  
He grunts.  
“A damn pity.”  
“Well, they didn’t see us.”  
“Hm. Let’s just make sure we keep it that way, then.”

They wait patiently until the other passengers, including their competition, have disembarked before threading themselves through the tight aircraft and onto Spanish soil. The place is buzzing with party hungry tourists, both international and national that have arrived for the Feria de Agosto. A yearly street carnival centered around Flamenco and getting shit faced. A fact that could serve them to their advantage. After arriving at the hotel, a dilapidated little building, tucked away in one of the quieter ally ways, they get a call from Phillippa ordering them to wait for further instructions with a menacing tone. This draws a disapproving groan from Yennefer as she sinks down onto the double bed.   
“Is she seriously going through with this?”  
Geralt drops the bags and purses his lips.  
“Can you blame her, recent events considered?”  
She runs a nervous hand through her hair, greasy from the sweat.   
“I don’t know what to think anymore.”  
Dipping her head she sniffs at her sticky armpits. Geralt laughs at the face she pulls and kicks off his shoes.  
“Shower?” He offers with an amused smirk.  
“You mean together?”   
He shrugs, moving to tug off his shirt. Her gaze catches at his defined abdominal muscles, but she tears her eyes away from the mouth watering sight and shakes her head.  
“Very enticing indeed, but I’m afraid I must decline.”  
“Any chance I could change your mind?”  
Shimmying his hips he steps out of his pants, grinning down on her. Yennefer’s eyebrow quirks slightly.  
“Aren’t we too old for those kind of gymnastics?”  
“Is that a rhetorical question?”  
“Yes. I’d much rather be comfortable.”  
She taps the sheets beside her wiggling her brows at him.  
He chuckles, his eyes narrowing with the growing desire to feel her naked body pressed against his.  
“But wouldn’t you like to not be drenched in sweat during it?”  
She sighs, leaning back, purposefully puffing out her chest.   
“When have you ever had good shower sex, Geralt? Name one time. At best no body pulls a muscle and at worst somebody breaks their neck.”  
He’s grinning now.  
“Come on, Yen. I’d never let you break your neck.”  
“Wow, so cocky, mister. Are you one of those who thinks they can defy the laws of physics with the sheer size of their biceps?”  
He laughs, loud and hearty and it makes her smile inevitably.  
“Well, I’m going to take a shower. You are welcome to join me, if you change your mind.”   
She stays put, crossing her arms as he walks into the bathroom. It’s not that she changes her mind when she hears the water splash onto his body, but the itch between her legs has grown too wild to keep ignoring. His lips part when he sees her. Her presence enough to get him rock hard. His bodily reaction to her makes her laugh and the sensitive patch of skin beneath her navel throb even angrier. He reaches for her and she wraps her arms around his torso, stepping under the stream of water and just resting her head at his steady chest for a moment. The warm stream calms her and deposits her into the moment. All the thoughts and worries about the mission dissipate and she’s just right here. Because here is everywhere she wants to be. And no where else. He dips his head, brushing his lips against the top of her shoulder and moans when her intoxicating scent fills his brain and drowns out everything else.   
“Has anyone ever told you how fucking amazing you smell?”  
His voice is soft and raspy at her ear and it makes her want to feel more of him. Dropping her hands to the firm cheeks of his ass she squeezes them affectionately.   
“Not the way you do.”  
“You drive me fucking crazy, Yen.”  
He mumbles and switches sides, now making his way up her left shoulder with teasingly ginger kisses. When he finds her ear he pauses to gently bite down onto her earlobe, causing her to suck in a sharp breath. Her patience is dwindling amidst the sensation of his erection pressed against her belly. So she cups his face and all but yanks him down to meet her lips. He concedes happily, kissing her feral and urgent. Their tongues wrestling for dominance as he spins her around. Feeling the stretch in her neck, they never break the kiss as she instinctively rocks her backside against his hardness. His hands are on her tits, squeezing, agitating her perked up nipples. Breathlessly breaking free from his demanding mouth, she bends over further, urging him to follow her. He runs his finger through her heat, making her thighs shake in anticipation.   
“You’re so wet for me.” She can almost hear the pain in his voice from holding back.  
“I need you.” She whispers it, the fire in her core devouring her strength. He can’t wait any longer. One hand on the perfect round of her ass, he coaxes her to widen her stance a little. Arching her back she presents herself to him, looking back at him with a naughty smile. Keeping the thumb of his free hand on her clit, he sinks into her slowly. The overwhelming ripple of pleasure that he chases through her makes her groan obscenely. They just fit so perfectly, like they were made for one another. She rolls her hips back against him and he slaps her rosy skin in appreciation. One arm around her middle he holds her in place securely as she grips onto his forearm for support. Driving into her deeper and faster with every breath, the tension builds and grows in her like a thunderstorm drawing all electricity out of the air to concentrate into one enormous cluster of energy. She never wants him to stop and she tells him as much. All he can muster is a grunt as he keeps pounding her. It’s just what she needs and his finger keeps circling the right spot, she thinks she might burst into flames any minute now.   
“Yen…” His voice dripping with emotion and pure, raw desire gives her the rest. Quivering and trembling she comes around him, hard and fast.   
“Fuck, Yen.” He pumps into her once, twice more and follows her into the fraction of Nirvana. Both are panting when he pulls away from her and, turning her around to face him, envelops her with every cell of his being, again. Aftershocks of the orgasm still chase through her veins, leaving her in a state between dream and consciousness. When she looks up at him, her eyes tell the same story his do. They don’t need to say a word. Nothing will ever make her feel like this. This she knows. 

They get the call just as the sun comes up. It takes her a moment to unravel herself from underneath Geralt’s heavy body intertwined with hers.   
“Yes?” She barely croaks into her phone, eyes still closed.  
“You’re moving today. He has a meeting with a client at noon on Calle Strachan. It will be packed, so prepare well and get in position on time.”  
Instead of telling her that this isn’t her first time, she just rolls her eyes and assures her that they got it. Phillippa hangs up and Yennefer pokes Geralt’s side to wake him. He groans in protest and curls his arms around her even tighter.  
“No.”   
Pushing at his torso she struggles against his iron grip.  
“Geralt! Let me go.” She protests halfheartedly.  
“Why?”  
“We need to get ready.”  
“What time did she say?”  
“Noon.”  
He grunts.  
“Fuck that. We have time.”  
He isn’t wrong, so she gives up for a moment and tries to get comfortable again. Her shifting results in her bum being pressed against the only part of him already wide awake. It’s not deliberate when her hips gently rock back against him. He responds just as instinctual in search of relieving friction.   
A drawn out moan leaves his lips and makes her shudder. Too lazy to do more they just move back and forth like that for a while, until the simmering embers in her center start to get uncomfortable and she wiggles her hips and reaching back tugs at his boxers. She can hear his smile in his next groan. When her hand engulfs his thick cock, he pulls down her panties and thrusts into her fist impatiently. Guiding him to her wet heat, she lightly lifts her leg and stretches her ass toward him. Holding onto her thigh he eases into her, pulling her closer toward him. She sighs in pleasure and lets her head loll back onto his arm, letting her lids fall heavy. He begins to move slowly, lazily making love to her. This way they gingerly stir each other to life. 

In spite of the recent mishaps they decide against changing their usual approach. It still has worked well for them most of the time. So Geralt takes position on a roof top, tightly tucked against his beloved rifle, while Yennefer roams the street beneath him. She squeezes through the crowd up and down the ally a few times, memorizing every nook and cranny, every exit, every odd cobble stone. It’s a street directly connecting the main road leading to the beach, so there is a constant stream of people passing through. Which is both extremely annoying and great as a cover. Something that De la Fuente seems to mean to take advantage of himself. There are two smaller allies that are dark and void of people. She’s eyeing the one with the dumpsters to have as an escape once they find him. It’s nearing twelve and her strides are quicker now, he head snapping around, scanning every face with more urgency.   
“I don’t see him.”  
“Hold on.” Geralt sounds calm and focused, as always. It pacifies her. Slowing her pace she pushes past an obnoxiously loud group of dutch tourists.   
“I have him, Yen! Next to the red hat! To your right.”  
Yennefer’s head snaps around and her eyes fall onto the elusive bastard.  
“If you get him away from the crowd, we got him.”  
Pushing aside people left and right, she reaches him unnoticed. Pressing the barrel of her gun into his lower back he freezes. Turning her head to make out who is threatening him, his eyes widen when he recognizes her face.  
“Hannah?” He asks stupidly and she scoffs incredulously.  
“Walk.” She commands determined and maneuvers them out of the mayhem. She coaxes him into the empty ally, which takes her breath away for a second when the pungent stench of piss hits her.  
“Don’t go further.” Geralt’s warns her. When she aims at his head to finally be done with this shit, but before she can pull the trigger, she hears Geralt scream in her ear and it makes her falter, giving De la fuente the chance to whirl around and slap the gun out of her hand. Instinctively she braces herself for impact as he launches himself at her. They stumble a few steps until her back crashes into the wall on the other side of the street. He’s got his forearm at her throat, cutting off her air supply. Fuck.   
“How did you know?! Who told you? Who else knows? Who do you work for?”  
He shakes her, slamming her head against the stone, sending the world spinning.  
“Answer me you fucking whore!”  
She raises her knee to his groin and he lets go of her immediately, doubles over, wheezing. She slips away from him, throwing herself onto the ground to reach for the gun. But he recovers astoundingly quickly and comes to stand over her, crashing his fist into her face. The pain blinds her, her own blood rushes in her ears as she fights unconsciousness. She hears the faint click of a gun and then a deep voice:  
“Yen! I was attacked. I don’t see you. Talk to me. What’s going on? They’re on us, Yen.”  
She opens her eyes and sees the blurry silhouette of De la fuente towering over her, gun pointed at her.  
“It really is a pity.” He says it slowly. What an amateur, she thinks. His hesitation granting her a chance of survival. But when she tries to move, his foot is on her chest, pinning her to the dusty ground, helplessly.  
“Yen? Do you copy? I’m on my way!”  
Maybe she could stall him, but the pressure on her chest makes it impossible to speak. Shit. He grins down on her smugly. This can’t be the last thing she sees. Panic begins to spread throughout her every fiber. No, not like this. The sound of a shot fired rips through the air, causing her heart to skip a beat. Blood splatters hot onto her face as De la fuente collapses next to her, dead. Relief floods her system and she thinks she might be sick. Expecting Geralt, she pushes up to a seated position, finding Fringilla approaching her, gun still directed at her. Oh, fucking fantastic.   
“Are you kidding me?” There is a tone of exasperation in her voice, but she doesn’t find it in her to be nearly as furious as she should be. Fringilla flashes her teeth at her triumphantly, not lowering the weapon.  
“What? Are you going to kill me, too?”   
“Not if you don’t do anything stupid.” Yennefer exhales deeply. She’s so tired of these games.  
“I’m not going to try to claim the kill. You killed him, I respect that.”  
“Summon your wolf and leave.” Fringilla’s expression is ice cold, calculated.   
As if on cue, Geralt appears at the other end of the ally. He reaches them in a few strides, mirroring Fringilla’s threats, when he recognizes them for what they are.  
“Don’t do anything stupid Rivia.” She advises him, tone sharp.  
“Geralt, let’s just go, please. She killed him. They won.”  
“You didn’t kill him?” He looks at her disbelievingly.  
“No, she did and she kinda saved my life, too. He’s dead, what’s it matter?”  
Suddenly Triss runs around the corner, joining Fringilla. She, too is holding a gun.  
“That bastard is faster than he looks.” She breathes, hunching over a little to catch her breath.  
“Did you get him?”  
Geralt isn’t listening to them anymore. He exchanges a look with Yennefer and then he lowers his weapon and places it onto the ground. He walks over to her, gently helping her to her feet.   
A wry smile disrupts his stern features as he searches her eyes, briefly wiping a thumb over her cracked lip.   
“Do you want to get the fuck out of here?” She murmurs and smiles as he nods. They just turn on their heels and walk, don’t look back once.

Their feet end up taking them directly to the peer, where they sit at the edge of the stones, letting their legs dangle over the dirty port water. Neither felt bad enough to deal with being in a hospital and so they merely picked up a few things at the pharmacy. As she cradles his wrist, beginning to clean a shallow cut on his forearm, he steadies her head with his left while carefully pressing an ice pack against her swelling cheek.   
“Those whore sons are lucky they’re always dead before I can get to them.”  
A gentle chuckle shakes her body.  
“I’m already planning my revenge on Triss.”  
There is a tranquil silence between them then. They find each others eyes and really already know without saying it.  
“I’m so tired, Geralt.” Her voice is a little rough, the defeat blatant.  
He shifts the ice down to her jaw, thumb brushing over her sensitive skin in soothing patterns.   
“I know. I am, too.” The inner corners of his brows tilt upward in empathy.  
“I don’t want to go back, yet.” She breathes.  
“I don’t either.”  
“Do you want to just stay for a bit?”  
“As long as you want. I just want to be with you.”  
“I honestly don’t give a shit that they stole the kill.”  
He nods slowly in agreement.   
“He’s dead, that’s what we all wanted from the start. It’s a happy ending.”  
“For once, right?” It sounds like she wants to say more, but hesitates. Geralt cocks his head, waiting patiently.   
“I can’t work with you, anymore. I mean it. We’re literally going to be the death of each other like this, Geralt.”  
He holds her stare, his expression unreadable, which makes her jittery. Pulling her knees to her chest she twists and folds her legs under herself, to get a better look at him. But when she opens her mouth, he holds up his palm and she waits.  
“You know that I think the same. It’s too risky… Why don’t we just..” He swallows, drawing in a deep breath.  
“Fuck the hell off?” She says before he can.  
The grin he flashes her makes her heart flutter.   
“Your read my mind.”  
She laughs loudly, almost throwing her head back, before she remembers her recent head trauma. The sound of her happiness elicit tingles in his belly.  
“Let’s do it.” She says and kisses him with every cell of her being.  
“I just want to be with you, too.”  
The Andalusian sun sets, throwing a spectacle of a million shades of red and orange onto their skin.  
Her head comes to rest on his shoulder when she scoots closer, he captures her middle with his arm, holding her close. There, there at his heart. Where she wants to stay forever.


End file.
